


And So the Seasons Turn

by Idrelle_Miocovani



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Before Trespasser, Children, Drama, Four Seasons, Gen, General, Hide and Seek, Horseback rides with Josephine, Hunting, Magic Scholarship, Mentioned Blackwall, Mentioned Solas, Sera Being Sera, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-21
Updated: 2016-10-21
Packaged: 2018-08-23 18:49:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8338762
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Idrelle_Miocovani/pseuds/Idrelle_Miocovani
Summary: In the summer, she hunts. In the autumn, she plays. In the winter, she remembers. In the spring, she finds solace in friendship. Four seasons. Four moments in the life of Venara Lavellan. Written for Dragon Age OCs Galore's prompt, "Seasons", on Tumblr.(Note: though this features my main Inquisitor, this story does not follow the same continuity as seen in The Tempest's Shadow.)





	1. Ise'melana

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for a prompt by Dragon Age OCs Galore on tumblr. The prompt was "Seasons." This also turned out to be a lot longer than I intended it to be, but it was a fun little thing to write. It takes place between the end of the main game and Trespasser. 
> 
> Before we start, some Elven translations (all are non-canon):
> 
> Ise’melana — Summer  
> Souver’melana — Autumn  
> Eir’melana — Winter  
> Enalas’melana — Spring  
> Dunathe ghi’mytha — Creature of the hunt

The ram lowered its head, its tail whisking back and forth as it grazed peacefully. Its silver-blue coat was dappled grey from the shadows of the leafy canopy above, where golden sunlight broke through in the gaps between the leaves. If Venara hadn’t known better, she would have mistaken the creature for a halla. More than once she had caught vendors around Skyhold unknowingly selling August ram leather as halla leather. There was a time in her life when she may have chided the vendors and corrected the hunters who had made the mistake, but now she was happy to keep her knowledge to herself. Many of the Keepers she had spoken to in her travels had told her of their struggles to keep others from poaching their herds. The last thing Venara wanted to see was the hall eradicated from southern Thedas.

Not knowing it was prey, the ram continued to graze. Venara raised her bow and knocked back an arrow. It had been years since she had hunted this way, but the warm, sunny summer days had a habit of making her think of her clan. Of her hahrens and the master hunters and the wisdom they had insisted on imparting to her, despite her abilities as a mage. Clan Lavellan was gone, but she would never forget. They lived on in her memory, and this was part of it. She would never make a decent archer for combat, but a hunter? That she could do.

Venara took careful aim, breathed, and—

_Twang!_

With a pitiful noise, the ram keeled over, an arrow in its neck. Too late, Venara released her arrow. It flew uselessly through the glade and struck a tree beyond the fallen ram.

“Did you see that? DID YOU SEE THAT?!”

Sera swung into view, quiver jostling on her back as she slipped down out of a tree. Venara lowered her bow.

“Show off.”

“Nah nah, you’re just jealous.” Sera stuck out her tongue at Venara, then pranced through the grass to the dead ram. She plopped down beside it and yanked her arrow out. “That’s three to me, and one to you!” She stuffed the arrow back into her quiver and stretched out her arms. “I win.”

Venara smiled. “I didn’t know we were playing a game.”

Sera snorted. “‘Life’s a game’… or some shit like that. I dunno, ask Josephine, she knows about that kind of stuff.”

Venara tried not to laugh as she knelt next to the ram and laid a hand on its side. Composing herself, she spoke a prayer—something she had not done in a very long time. “We give thanks to you, dunathe ghi’mytha, and the sacrifice you make so we may stay clothed and fed. We give thanks to Andruil, she who guided our hunt and made our arrows swift. Ma serannas.”

Sera pulled one of her knees into her chest and rested her chin on top. “I thought you didn’t believe anymore.”

Venara eyed her. “I don’t.”

“Then why go to all the trouble of saying all—” Sera waved a hand in the air. _“—that?”  
_

Venara crossed her legs and folded her hands in her lap. “I may no longer worship the Evanuris, but that does not mean that there are not value in those words. They are the words that have been spoken by my clan during the hunt for centuries. I will not forget.”

“Oh…” Sera bit her lower lip. “Yeah. I suppose you’re right. But…” She shook her head. “I am never really going to understand you.”

“You don’t have to. Am I ever really going to understand your thing about pranks?”

Sera crinkled her nose. “Probably not.” She grinned. “But guess what? _I still win.”_

“I don’t know about that.”

Venara cocked her head to the side. Sera turned around and saw a trio of August rams that had trotted into the glade. She slowly got to her feet, raising her bow and drawing out a series of arrows from her quiver. She knocked the first arrow and drew back the string.

Still seated cross-legged on the ground, Venara lazily raised a hand. It glowed white-blue.

Sera released the arrow.

_Thud.  
_

The arrow slammed uselessly into a crystalline ram that had been frozen into place. In fact, all three rams were frozen. A moment later, there was a loud _crack_ and the spell dissipated. As ice fell away, the rams toppled over, dead.

Sera’s jaw dropped. She spun around and glared at Venara through narrowed eyes. “You _cheat.”_

Venara grinned. “I win.”


	2. Souver’melana

It had only taken a couple of weeks for the leaves to turn from green to gold and into the burnt orange of autumn. The forest beyond Skyhold was now a veritable swath of red-orange, which made for a very pretty sight from the castle walls. 

Venara was not on the walls today. 

Today, she was in the woods, on a very important mission. 

Fallen leaves, turning brown and inwards upon themselves, littered the forest floor. They crunched beneath Venara’s feet as she walked through the woods, looking between branches and trunks of trees. 

“Damn,” she murmured. Where could they be? 

She paused, breathing in the chilly air and rubbed her hands together for warmth. It was surprisingly cold for this early in the season. A few more days like this and the trees would be stripped bare. 

_Crunch._

Venara stood still, as still as a statue, and listened. 

_Crunch, crunch._   

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw something move. Like shadows dancing between the trees. 

A branch cracked. 

Venara spun around and dove towards a massive tree whose lower trunk was surrounded by bushes and underbrush. She crouched down and peered through the close-knit branches, pulling them back. Staring back at her were a pair of wide brown eyes framed by a mop of curly hair and a pair of pointed ears. 

“Aha!” Venara cried. “Got you!” 

“No fair!” 

Venara laughed. “Oh, it’s very fair. That’s how hide-and-seek works, right? You hide. I seek.” 

_“Pfft.”_

“How about you come out now and help me find the others?” 

The elven girl nodded. Venara withdrew to give her enough room to wiggle out from the underbrush. She had really forced her way in there. Branches tore at her clothes and brushed her face as the girl wriggled her way out. She huffed and puffed with effort, but eventually she was free. She sprawled on the ground, her black curls ringing her head, and looked up at Venara. 

Venara knelt beside her. “You’ve got a scratch, Maeve. On your cheek.” 

Maeve shrugged. “Don’t matter.” 

“You’re bleeding. Let me help you.” 

Maeve brushed her cheek with a hand. Blood smeared across her face. “Don’t matter.” 

“If it hurts, I can help. Will you let me help?” 

Maeve hesitated. Then she sat up, brushed dead leaves out of her hair, and nodded. 

“All right.” 

Venara summoned her magic. Once, she had been impossibly bad at healing spells. She had shrugged it off, saying it was not her area of expertise. It had been irresponsible of her. She knew better now. You never knew when yourself or another would be in desperate need of help. 

Or when a child needed a scratch patched up. 

A light appeared in Venara’s hand. She ran her fingers along Maeve’s cheek, the skin knitting itself back together. Then she let the spell go, reached into her pocket and drew out a cloth. Wetting it with water from her flask, Venara gently wiped away the blood. 

“There,” she said. “That’s better.” 

Maeve touched her cheek. “Thank you,” she said quietly. 

“If you ever need anything, Maeve,” Venara said, “you only have to ask.” 

Maeve looked at her feet. “But you’re the Inquisitor!” 

Venara nodded. “But I’m also a person. And an elf, like you.” 

Maeve shook her head, her curls bouncing around her shoulders. “I don’t want to be an elf. They tease me and pull my ears.” 

“Who does?” 

“The… the others.” Maeve folded her arms tightly against her chest. “Daven and Helga, mostly.” She sniffed and wiped her nose with her sleeve. “When is Blackwall coming back?” she asked. 

Venara hesitated. There were many children like Maeve within Skyhold’s walls. Children without homes, without parents, without families to care for them. War orphans. Maeve was the daughter of a couple of elves from Denerim who had signed on as Leliana’s agents. They had been reported missing six months ago. No one would say it until they had confirmation, but they were most likely dead. And their seven year old daughter was now left to fend for herself. The Inquisition provided clothing, food and shelter for children such as Maeve, but there was very little they could do in terms of emotional support or education. 

Well… there _had_ been one person who had cared. One person who had cared to spend time with children who were lost, children who were forgotten, children who were forced to grow up far too early in the middle of a war.   

Venara had sent him to the Grey Wardens six months ago. A punishment she herself had sentenced him to for treason and betrayal. 

“Do me one favour, my lady,” he had said to her. “Do not forget the children.” 

“What do you mean?” she had asked. 

“Exactly what it means,” he had replied. And then he had gone, ridden out with the rise of the morning sun, into the wilderness. Gone. 

In the aftermath of Corypheus’ defeat and the Inquisition’s political struggles with Fereldan and Orlais, Venara had forgotten about his words for a very long time. Until one day, when passing through the barn that had been Blackwall’s—no, _Rainier_ ’s—favourite spot, she remembered. 

She had gone to the house where the children lived that afternoon. And she had met them—the twenty odd little ones, children of agents and servants and soldiers. Children who had somehow found their way to Skyhold, sometimes not of their own volition. Humans and dwarves and elves. 

Looking at their dirt-smudged faces, she had made a promise—that she would not forget them. And she made good on that promise. 

It was why she was out in the woods playing hide-and-seek on an afternoon where she should have been meeting with ambassadors or strategizing with her advisors. 

“When is he coming back?” Maeve asked more insistently.     

“I don’t know,” Venara said. 

Maeve frowned. “You’re lying.” 

“All right,” Venara said. “I don’t think he will ever be able to come back.” 

Maeve’s lower lip trembled. “Why?” 

“Because… he made a mistake,” Venara said. “And he couldn’t stay.” 

Maeve hung her head. “I’ve made mistakes.” 

“It was a very big mistake and making up for it meant that he had to leave us.” Venara put a hand on Maeve’s shoulder. “I miss him, too. He may come back some day, but for now, his place is with the Grey Wardens.” 

Maeve was still looking at the ground. 

“I’m sorry, Maeve,” Venara said. “I’m sorry Blackwall isn’t here. I’m sorry that Daven and Helga are unkind. Is there anything you want me to do?” 

Maeve glanced up at her. “Can you… can you…” 

“Yes?” 

“Can you get Daven and Helga to leave me alone?” Maeve’s eyes brightened. Her next words fell out of her mouth in a rush. “Maybe… maybe set them on fire? With magic? Not a lot, just a little bit!” 

“Maeve,” Venara said slowly. “I think you know exactly why that would be a bad idea and why I’m not going to do that.” 

Maeve nodded. She looked away. “Sorry. It was stupid.” 

“But I _will_ have a word or two with them,” Venara said. “I don’t think they can get away with pulling _my_ ears.” She smiled. 

So did Maeve. 

“And you know you can visit me whenever you want,” she added. 

“Even when you’re seeing the important people in the funny hats?” 

_“Especially_ when I’m seeing the important people in the funny hats.” 

“But Flissa says we aren’t to go into the castle when they’re there!” Maeve exclaimed. “She says we’ll get ‘underfoot.’” She raised her feet and looked at the bottom of her boots. “I don’t know how I can be under someone’s feet.” 

“Flissa worries too much,” Venara said. “Come whenever you want. You can even sit on the throne if you like.” 

Maeve giggled. She dashed forwards and smashed into Venara, wrapping her small arms tightly around her waist in a fierce hug. Venara held the young girl close for a moment, then gently touched her shoulder. 

“Shall we go?” she asked. “We still have to find the others.” 

Maeve slipped her hand into Venara’s. “I know where they are,” she said. “I’m the best at hide and seek—until you came along. Come on!” 

She tugged at Venara’s hand and they dashed off deeper into the woods, leaves crunching beneath their feet. The air was filled with their giggling laughter.


	3. Eir’melana

Venara sat in her bed, huddled beneath a pile of books and mismatched blankets. Some were made of heavy grey lambswool trimmed with fur, others of even heavier velvet, dyed green and embroidered in gold. Both sets had been gifts from Josephine, who had desperately tried to reshape every aspect of Venara’s wardrobe and style into something befitting of her station. It was she who was responsible for the ridiculously comfortable bed of marble and gold, imported directly from Val Royeaux, and the recently refurbished hearth, which featured new carvings of prancing hall. Venara didn’t mind. Though ultimately unnecessary, the gesture was heartwarming. 

And Josephine did have very fine taste. 

Venara shifted on her bed and pulled a candle—which was set on the side table—closer. Despite the roaring fire in the hearth and numerous candles dripping wax at various strategic places throughout the room, reading light was poor during winter nights. And Venara had a lot of reading to do. Between the reports and missives and written requests from the nobility, she had no time for her own studies during the day. Some said she was the most talented mage who ever lived and therefore didn’t need to study more magic, but Venara refuted that. 

First of all, she wasn’t the most talented mage who ever lived. Dorian occupied that position. The man had discovered how to functionally work time magic in under an hour while under the immediate threat of death in a corrupted future. The most impressive thing Venara knew how to do was to let her hand glow green, wave it around and—poof!—goodbye demons and Fade rifts. 

And that had taken no study whatsoever. 

Second of all, she always needed to study more magic. Everyone needed to study more magic. If all mages could stop squabbling and ply their minds together, Thedas would be in a much better state. 

Venara sighed and turned a page of her current book. She was progressing very little tonight. The mysteries of the limits of Fadewalking and Dreamer mages continued to elude her. 

Some time ago, she had been informed by a mildly surprised and bemused Dorian that she was what the Tevinter called a somniari. A Dreamer. A supposedly powerful class of mage who could walk the Fade without aid of lyrium. During her training with Istimaethoriel, Venara had never learned about such a class. She had always assumed that such a thing was… normal… for every mage. 

Apparently, she had been misinformed. Or rather, she had misinformed herself.   

She had spent months walking the Fade with Solas, slowly learning how to twist and the shape the realm of dreams to her will. But his teachings had never been formal—rather, she had watched him, learned from him, until she was able to transform the world around her on her own. And then she had been thrown back into the Fade physically at Adamant, and she had never dreamed lucidly again. 

She had refused to. 

Having the power to stop her own dreams… that, too, was apparently rare. And odd. Dorian was very helpful for pointing out these kinds of discrepancies. 

And so now here she was, studying late into the hours of the night, trying to learn about this other power her former lover had unlocked in her, a power she had later blocked. She wasn’t sure if she ever wanted to use that power again (seeing the Fade as it really was still haunted her, even though it had been over a year since the incident). 

Venara pulled the blanket draped around her shoulders close. It was her favourite. Made from thick, dark grey wolf’s fur and embroidered with simple thread, it had been a gift from Keeper Hawen for aiding his clan when they were camped on the Exalted Plains. Though the blanket was not of her own clan, there was a sense of familiarity about it and it was now well-worn with use. 

Venara took a long sip from the warm mug she cradled between her hands. Several years ago, she had never even heard of tea—at least, not in the way humans brewed it. And now, a deep, dark tea, brewed the Antivan way (Josephine had showed her), was her favourite drink, especially on a long winter night. Skyhold, though fully repaired and reinforced, did what castles did best and was incredibly drafty. The tea worked wonders for keeping her warm during her study sessions. 

_“I detest the stuff.”_

Venara looked down at her mug, at the swirling dark brown liquid lightened by the faintest hint of milk. Solas’ voice still echoed in her mind. She shut her eyes and gulped down another mouthful, nearly burning her tongue. 

_Not again,_ she thought. _Not tonight. I need to concentrate._

And so she lowered her mug, reached out and drew another book to her. She flipped it to the marked page and held it open with her foot, which was encased in a very thick, wool sock. She then returned to warming her hands on the mug. 

It was, she decided, completely unfair. 

So much of Skyhold reminded her of him. The castle walls they had walked, the view from the mountain pass. She avoided using the rotunda to access the library, there was far too much of _him_ in there. A lingering presence she could never shake because of those damn stupid frescos. Even her chambers were not free of his memory. How many nights had they spent here, speaking into the long hours of the night, debating history and philosophy and magic? How many times had they laid on this bed, holding each other as they met in dreams to walk the Fade? 

She knew exactly how many times. And she wished she could forget. 

Venara sipped more tea. The taste was surprisingly bitter. Maybe she needed to add sugar. 

She stared at the open tome, her eyes scanning the pages. She forced herself to concentrate. 

> _Accounts of the techniques of Ancient Tevinter dreamers, or somniari, are confusing at best. It is unknown how far their powers extended. Indeed, it is theorized that much of what is said to lie within a somniari’s capabilities is shadowed by myth and legend. However, when one can shape the Fade to their will, transform their very dreams, who can say what is_ not _possible? Perhaps, within this school of magic, anything is possible…  
> _

“Damn it,” Venara breathed. 

She had promised herself she would let him go. She had told herself that. It had been his choice to leave, and she had to respect that. She wasn’t going to go chasing after him like some love-struck fool in one of Varric’s romance serials. The idea was tempting, but ultimately useless. If Leliana’s agents couldn’t find him, what chance did she have? 

Besides, even if she did find him, she would probably turn into a stuttering fool and embarrass herself. 

> _Accounts of the techniques of Ancient Tevinter dreamers…_

Really, was she desperate to be that kind of person, the one who held on so tightly they nearly suffocated themselves over a broken heart? No lover was worth that. None. 

> _Accounts of the techniques of…  
> _

But forget all that. Forget how it appeared. What _galled_ her about this whole situation was that they had shared something, a bond that went beyond companionship and love—he had so much as admitted it! And then he had cited that it was a reason—no, _the_ reason—their relationship had to end. He was a distraction to her duty. 

Fine. All right. Fair. 

But he had also left without so much as a goodbye and _that_ set her teeth on edge. That’s made her angry, what made her confused, what made her unable to let him go. She had no sense of closure, he had simply… disappeared. And he had left behind so many unanswered questions—more questions than answers, really—and he was the only one who knew enough to be able to help her. 

The orb. If it belonged to one of the Evanuris, who did it belong to? 

Her hand. The mark. It was growing. How could she stop it? 

Her abilities. Dreaming. What had started off as an innocent romance had turned into a magic that was perhaps her most powerful—and most dangerous—tool. Why show her that, encourage her abilities, but say nothing about it? 

> _Accounts of the techniques…  
> _

He had told her he respected her. He had told her he loved her. If you truly cared for someone, if you loved them, if you respected them—if you had the chance, you did not forget to say goodbye. 

Too many people were never given that chance. 

> _Accounts of the…  
> _
> 
> _Accounts of…  
> _
> 
> _Accounts…  
> _

_Damn it._

She had riled herself up and was now completely unable to focus. 

Venara threw herself back into her pillows and sunk into them. She raised a hand and bit her fingernail.  

_“You train your will to control magic and withstand possession. Your indomitable focus is an enjoyable side benefit. You have chosen a path whose steps you do not dislike because it leads to a destination you enjoy. As have I.”  
_

_“Indomitable focus?”  
_

_“Presumably. I have yet to see it dominated. I imagine that would be…fascinating.”  
_

Venara stopped chewing her fingernail and pressed her knuckles against her lips. She hated that her mind worked in this manner, recalling memories that now had completely different meanings at the most inopportune moments. 

_There you go, Solas,_ she thought. _You have retroactively caused my focus to be dominated. We’ll have a talk about that if I ever see you again._

Venara drained her tea and set the mug down. She pulled the blankets closer around her and resumed reading. Though her mind usually slid over the text with ease, gleaning information at a mere glance, she forced herself to slow down and take in every word. It was her only defense against rampaging memories. 

She turned page after page, determined to finish this section tonight. The fire in the hearth crackled. Snow lashed against the windows. There had to be something in here that was helpful. She needed to know more. Where magic was concerned, she always needed to know more. 

There. 

> _It is suggested that a dreamer may deliberate seek out other dreamers within the Fade. Most often, this has occurred when mages willingly enter the Fade together, such as in the case of Augustina and her apprentice Karem (for further reading, see Augustina’s apocrypha,_ Journals II—IX). _However, in_ Journal VII, _Augustina writes the following addendum to her journeys:_
> 
> “We walked. And then we were found. Black as night, a shadow in shadow. No demon was he, but he would have slayed us or turned us if we had not cloaked ourselves in the shadows of the mind.” 
> 
> _From this passage, it is reasonable to assume that Dreamers can slay each other in the Fade. Augustina uses an example of cloaking magic to hide herself and her apprentice, preventing them from being detected and from coming to harm. It appears that it is possible to purposefully hunt or find another Dreamer within the depths of the Fade, but how this is accomplished is unknown.  
> _
> 
> _However, there are a number of possibilities, as detailed below.  
> _

“Aha,” Venara murmured. “Got you.” 

So much for letting go. 

If it was possible to find him in the Fade—and he would always be there, he loved the Fade—she would find him. And she would not let him go until she had had a few words. 

Venara pulled the book close and flopped back down on the pillows. She would read until dawn. 

When her servants came to wake her for breakfast, they would discover a darkened room. There would be embers in the hearth, candle wax dotting the stone floor, and a young elven woman who had fallen asleep, fully dressed, amidst a pile of books.


	4. Enalas’melana

The shadows shortened as the sun rose higher in the sky. The trees at the edge of the woods remained still and quiet, the ends of their branches tipped with growing buds that would soon flower. A doe grazed beneath the shadow of the trees, keeping a watchful eye on her newborn fawn as he stumbled about on his young legs. 

Suddenly, the air split with the sound of thundering hooves. The doe’s head shot up and she took off in fright, coaxing her fawn into a bouncing run. Two horses crested the hill, sweeping across the long grass that was slowly turning from dormant yellow to vibrant green. One of the riders pulled ahead, whooping with joy as she charged towards the woods. She pulled up short as she reached the treeline. The second rider followed, but with less exuberance. 

Venara’s cheeks were flushed with heat. She swung about in her saddle as Josephine caught up with her. Her dappled grey mare nickered and she leaned forward to pat her neck. 

“See?” Venara said as Josephine trotted up to her. “I told you I’d win.” 

“Oh, very well,” Josephine puffed, pushing loose locks of black hair out of her eyes. “I must admit, you are the finer horse master.” 

“Don’t worry,” Venara said. “Your integrity is still intact. You are, after all, better at me in diplomacy, keeping composure, manipulating nobles, fundraising, planning parties, looking presentable—” Here she nodded at Josephine’s blue and brown riding habit that she had someone managed to keep impeccable during their race— “knowing exactly which frilly cakes to order and—oh—just about everything needed to keep the Inquisition running.” Venara’s eyes widened. “Oh, and I almost forgot! You can _always_ beat me in a hand of Wicked Grace. You know, the most important thing. Someday I’ll end up like Cullen if I’m not careful.” 

Josephine rolled her eyes. “Oh, you are _hilarious,_ Venara. Very funny.” 

Venara’s grin faded. “Did I say something wrong?” 

Josephine sighed. “No. Only I will never gear the end of it when my brothers hear I lost a race.” 

“I didn’t realize Antivans cared so much for horse racing.” 

“Oh, we don’t,” Josephine said. “But the Montilyets do. Especially the Montilyet men.” 

“Well, then,” Venara said. “Don’t worry. I won’t tell anyone I beat you. Your secret is safe with me.” 

Josephine laughed. “No matter. I am being overdramatic, as Mama would say. I sometimes take winning too seriously, even in a game between friends.” 

Venara feigned shock. “You? Take winning seriously? I hadn’t noticed after you left Varric in pieces during his farewell round of Wicked Grace.” 

“Ah, Varric,” Josephine said lightly. “Skyhold is not the same without him.” 

“Have you heard from him?” Venara asked. “He said he was going back to Kirkwall.” 

“Not directly,” Josephine replied. “But I have heard rumours that the city’s elite may be considering him as viscount.” 

Venara thought that sounded important, but she wasn’t entirely sure _how_ important. Even after almost two years, positions and titled baffled her. 

“He did send us what appears to be a first draft of a novel,” Josephine added. “There are instructions to send it to Cassandra as soon as she has a break in her schedule. Something to keep the new Divine entertained, he said.” 

Venara grinned. “I know what that is! Can I read it?” 

“No!” Josephine paused. “Er… well… I’m sure Cassandra won’t mind if you take a peek…” 

“You read it.” 

“I did not!” 

“You’re blushing,” Venara pointed out. 

“I am not! It’s the heat from the ride!” 

Venara raised an eyebrow. 

Josephine deflated. “All right, I _did_ peek. But I couldn’t help it! It was just _sitting_ there.” 

“And?” Venara asked eagerly. 

Josephine went pink. “It is _beautiful._ The romance! The adventure! The mystery! And the characters are so wonderful (though I do think there is one intended to be a rather unflattering depicting of Segrit)—” 

They rode forwards into the woods, following a wide sweeping path between the trees. Venara listened intently as Josephine spoke, with rising excitement, about Varric’s new romance novel. Venara didn’t care she was completely and utterly spoiled for the ending—she couldn’t wait to read it. 

Poor Cassandra. She probably regretted the day she introduced Venara and Josephine to smutty, romantic literature. Especially smutty, romantic literature that had Varric’s name attached to it. They were terrible friends—all they did now that Cassandra was Divine Victoria was steal her books. 

After a while, Venara and Josephine fell quiet and concentrated on riding. Venara wasn’t entirely sure where she was going—all she knew was that she was enjoying being out of the castle. The mountain passes had finally melted and the woods was free to roam. 

The air was still quite cold for spring, but it was so fresh. Venara couldn’t stop grinning as she trotted through familiar paths, winding her way through the forest. She loved it here. She always would. 

“Where are we going?” Josephine asked. 

“I’m making it up as I go along!” Venara called. Suddenly, she had an idea. Halfway across a glade, she reigned in her mare and dismounted. Josephine followed suit. Venara crossed the glade and ducked into a denser patch of trees, squeezing herself through the underbrush. 

“Are you certain it’s safe to leave the horses?” Josephine asked. 

Venara turned and grinned at her. “Where’s your sense of adventure? Come on!” 

They spent a good ten minutes forcing their way through branches and underbrush before they popped out on the other side. They were in another glade, but this one was much more remarkable than the first. A massive waterfall towered at the end, water thundering down into a deep, dark blue pool that rushed out down a stream into the woods. The rocky sides of the waterfall were still crusted with snow and ice. 

Josephine’s breath caught in her throat. “Oh, but this is beautiful!” she exclaimed as she approached the waterfall in awe. “All this time and I had no idea this was here!” 

“When I said we should go on a ride together, I thought, well…” Venara paused. “I love this place.” 

“I can see why.” 

Venara knelt next to the pool and lightly dipped her fingers in. Freezing cold, of course. But she couldn’t help herself. It was like a ritual—whenever she saw water, she had to test it. 

Josephine sat on flat rock that rose out of the grass, her eyes bright and her smile wide. “I suppose I’ve become so accustomed to the beauty I see from the walls that I never stop to consider what Skyhold truly has to offer.” 

Venara sat and pulled her knees into her chest, resting her chin on top. “Josephine,” she said, “can I ask you something?” 

“Of course.” 

“Do you ever feel lonely? Since most of our friends have left?” 

“I do.” Josephine folded her hands in her lap. “I miss Varric’s tales and Dorian’s jests. I even miss Cole teasing the soldiers by replacing all their hats.” 

Venara smiled. “Bull and the Chargers nearly burning down the tavern.” 

“And Vivienne scolding them like a school mistress!” 

“And Cassandra being annoyed with them all.” 

“Ah. I think the word you are looking for is ‘disgusted.’” 

“Mhm. Sera’s pranks—!” 

“Not the one where she dropped a bucket of flour on my head five minutes before I was to meet with Comtess Hélène!” 

“All right, all right, how about Sera doing backflips everywhere or leaving cookies for everyone when the mood strikes—” 

“And Blackwall telling her—” Josephine’s face fell. She glanced at Venara, then looked away. 

Venara wasn’t sure what to say. She, too, after all, had a name she’d rather not mention. 

She got up and sat next to Josephine, placing a hand on her arm. “Are you all right?” 

“Oh, yes. I’m fine.” Josephine paused. “As I always am.”

They sat in silence for some time, Josephine’s fingers fiddling with torn pieces of grass. Then, finally, she spoke. “I do miss him.” 

“I know.” 

“I suppose you, of all people, know what that feels like.” 

“Mm.” 

Josephine sighed. “But I also miss them. I miss them all. Very much. Skyhold is not the same without them.” 

Venara took Josephine’s hand and squeezed it comfortingly. “We’ll see them again.” 

“Of that I am certain. Our work has changed, but it is not done.” Josephine glanced up, let out a little gasp and pointed with her free hand. “Oh, look!” 

Above, a little bird had hopped to the end of a branch. It chirped, letting out a trill that eventually turned into song. Venara and Josephine, fingers still tightly woven together, watched as the bird took flight and soared about the glade. Up it went, up and up, to the waterfall, where it was buffeted about by wind and mist. Then it crested the waterfall, did a single circle, as if in victory, and flew out of sight. 

_the end_


End file.
